


One Lock; No Key

by shiphitsthefan



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: BDSM, Daddy Kink, Dom Shane, Filth. Filth. Filth. This Is All Filth. None Of Us Are Free Of Sin., Humiliation, M/M, Missing Scene, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Season/Series 04, Under-negotiated Kink, fear kink, sub Ryan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-08
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-05-03 20:49:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14577378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiphitsthefan/pseuds/shiphitsthefan
Summary: In a matter of hours, Shane has either learned or admitted to knowing most of Ryan’s major kinks, and Ryan has no clue why Shane isn’t bothered. Ryan’s certainly bothered, in more ways than one.He checks his phone, tired and emotionally deflated. Shane’s been downstairs for half an hour, ostensibly using the bathroom and brushing his teeth. He never takes thirty minutes to do either. Grumbling, Ryan throws off the covers, mashing the camera’s off button before walking down the attic stairs and grabbing the doorknob. No need to film an empty room.Before he can open the door more than an inch, it pushes shut from the other side, and Ryan hears the definitive click of the lock sliding into place.“Shane?”No answer.





	One Lock; No Key

**Author's Note:**

  * For [poetdameron](https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetdameron/gifts).



> Full respect to the boys, but this is completely their fault. [sizequeenbergara](http://sizequeenbergara.tumblr.com/post/173589633185/look-shane-said-hes-was-going-to-lock-down-ryan) is also to blame, though not as much as the [cough] horny boys [cough cough].
> 
> Look, they can't just edit out like four or five hours of sleepover footage and not expect me to fill in the blanks, okay?
> 
> Betaed by and gifted to the wonderful [poetdameron](https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetdameron/pseuds/poetdameron/works). <3

“You know what,” Shane said, sly-eyed, leaning over Ryan enough to be imposing, “at some point tonight, I’m going to lock you in here.”

It was the twelfth or thirteenth time Ryan had experienced a full body shiver since walking into the Bellaire House, and he’d lost count of how many times his skin had crawled, but the fear was _good,_ a consuming terror, one that lit up like a house fire deep in his belly.

Ryan stumbled over his words, thankful he wasn’t stumbling over his own feet. “I—you wouldn’t dare.”

The door to the attic creaked open. “I would.”

“Yeah, you probably would.” Ryan glanced up at the lock, and then at the back of Shane’s head. “Don’t do it.”

They started up, and Ryan was barely able to keep pace with the conversation: yes, the attic was big; yes, the energy was oppressive; yes, there was more than a ghost haunting it.

Shane kept on talking, but Ryan didn’t hear him. All he could think about was being locked behind the door, Shane mostly silent on the other side except when he counted off the minutes until Ryan could come out, teasing him.

 _What if I couldn’t move?_ The thought came unbidden, and it wasn’t the first time Ryan’s brain had betrayed him on location. He always tried not to fill in the details of the daydream, admonished himself for how arousing he found the fear. After hearing Shane’s commanding tone downstairs, however, dismissing the idea was impossible.

Shane rambled as Ryan stood frozen, back against the wall, head turned to stare at the closed door. Specific images didn’t pop into his mind, only the pervasive idea of the door, immovable; within his grasp, but untouchable. Perhaps Ryan couldn’t even see it, only hear the click of the lock, isolated with the knowledge he was trapped up here for as long as Shane wanted. Ryan would wait and wonder, terrified.

_Excited._

“Ryan?”

 _And what would he do when he came back?_ Ryan shuddered, the door growing fuzzy and out of focus. _Would he fuck my mouth with no warning? Would I know it was him? Oh shit, what if it_ wasn’t _him?_

“Earth to Ryan. Come in, Ryan.”

_What if it was a ghost or a demon or whatever the fuck we were hunting? Would he know? Would he watch?_

“Uh, Ryan?”

_What if he just...left me? Until he needed me. Just used me and then closed and locked the door back like putting away a fucking toy, oh God—_

“Ryan, say ‘what.’”

He jumped. “What?”

“You okay down there?” and for a split second, he was convinced Shane knew what lurid track Ryan’s brain was running.

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yeah.” Ryan swallowed, still idling on neutral.

“Can you say anything besides ‘yeah?’”

“Yeah,” he said, smiling weakly.

Eyes narrowed, Shane told him to, “Get up here. And turn off your camera.” They both did, in tandem, mirroring each other. “What’s going on?”

Ryan kept trying to catch his breath. “Nothing.”

“Bullshit.” He frowned, furrowing his eyebrows. “Is this because I threatened to lock you up here?”

 _Yes._ “No.” Ryan took his hand and let Shane guide him up the steps. Their palms were as clammy as they had been during the aborted seance.

“I didn’t mean to _actually_ scare you. Not this badly, anyway.”

Ryan stood one step below the landing, head craned, searching Shane’s face. “I, um. I don’t mind.”

Shane ruffled Ryan’s hair; the reminder of how small Ryan was in comparison did nothing to curb his arousal. “I know you like being afraid, little guy,” he said. “It just feels like I pushed too far.”

“You—you know?” He hated the squeak in his voice, disgusted at the timidity.

“You can be kinda transparent,” Shane told him softly before flicking his eyes down past Ryan’s waist. “And you might want to adjust before we turn the cameras back on.”

Ryan’s hand flew to his crotch before he could stop it. Shane laughed, and the blush on Ryan’s face deepened with humiliation.

But he kind of liked that, too.

 

* * *

 

Ryan replays their earlier conversation on a loop as he lies on his cot, staring at the ceiling. He feels safer than he usually does when they sleep over in haunted houses; after hearing “spaghetti” and “apple tater” on the spirit box, Ryan doesn’t think the house is as possessed as the owner made it out to be. At one time, definitely, he’s sure, but not tonight.

The one demonic house he made an exception for this season, and nothing to be found. His disappointment will likely show through on the footage. Ryan gave serious thought to turning the camera off again and blaming it on a malfunction during the postmortem.

Thankfully, Shane hasn’t wanted to discuss what happened on the stairs. Then they would _definitely_ need to stop rolling tape.

_What the fuck is wrong with me?_

He asks the same question every time he gets turned on during an investigation. Ryan can’t help it, neither the questioning nor the kink. He’d worried about Shane quitting the show should he learn Ryan’s secret; even worse, it might drive Shane away, having been an unknowing accomplice to Ryan’s perversion. The thought of losing Shane incapacitates Ryan, grows a sickening rot deep in Ryan’s stomach.

Ryan could handle Shane leaving _Unsolved,_ given time, but ruining their friendship? He doubts his heart would survive the parting blow.

Coming to terms with his attraction to Shane had been difficult enough, but Ryan managed. Settling for his hand and his fingers wasn’t a problem; cuddling with his body pillow post-orgasm sucked, but he saw no other option. Shane never noticed Ryan staring at him, infatuated, or reacted to Ryan’s blatant attempts at flirting. He simply wasn’t interested, and Ryan has hours upon hours worth of footage to prove it.

Shit, Ryan had all but admitted his daddy kink downstairs, too afraid to remember to turn on the filter between his brain and his mouth. Shane barely acknowledged it.

In a matter of hours, Shane has either learned or admitted to knowing most of Ryan’s major kinks, and Ryan has no _clue_ why Shane isn’t bothered. Ryan’s certainly bothered, in more ways than one.

He checks his phone, tired and emotionally deflated. Shane’s been downstairs for half an hour, ostensibly using the bathroom and brushing his teeth. He never takes thirty minutes to do either. Grumbling, Ryan throws off the covers, mashing the camera’s off button before walking down the attic stairs and grabbing the doorknob. No need to film an empty room.

Before he can open the door more than an inch, it pulls shut from the other side, and Ryan hears the definitive click of the lock sliding into place.

“Shane?”

No answer.

“Shane, c’mon.” He jiggles the doorknob. “This isn’t funny.”

Still nothing.

Ryan tenses all over. He’s already half hard, head spinning with his earlier imaginings. “Unlock the door, Shane,” Ryan says, though he’d rather Shane didn’t listen.

Silence, blanketing, smothering.

He sinks to his knees—it feels right, sitting back on his heels, looking up at the top of the door, at the upper left corner. An uneasiness settles over Ryan’s skin; goosebumps pebble his arms. The world feels muted and sharpened all at once. Ryan’s uncomfortable and scared and _fucking turned on._

“Shane, please.”

Beyond the door, Shane hums. “What, precisely, are you asking for, Ryan?”

The same goddamn voice, the one that promised to lock Ryan up in the first place. _How else would he lock me up?_ Ryan shakes his head—no time to think about it—his palms sweating against the old wood. “Let me out.”

“No.”

“Please?”

Shane chuckles, though not unkindly or taunting. “I like the way you sound when you beg,” he says, “but we’re not going to have another chance to do this, now are we?”

“I—I guess we aren’t,” Ryan whispers.

“Good to go?”

Ryan hums, hopes it comes across as consent. He wants to palm his cock through his sleep pants, but also needs permission to do so, he thinks. Everything’s happening so fast, and he’s confused as fuck, and—

“Breathe, baby,” says Shane. “Don’t pass out on me.”

One deep inhale; a shallow exhale; three times more. “Sorry.”

“I didn’t want to spring this on you. I’m not that kind of Dom.”

“You’re not _what?”_

“A Dom. Well, I mean, I _am,_ but not the sort that goes in for under-negotiated...everything.” Shane thumps a fist against his chest. “Me, Dom. You, Ryan.”

Ryan wheezes, resting his forehead against the door. He must have fallen asleep and not realized. It’s the only logical explanation, because this can’t be happening. Even Spock would find the situation contrived. “Do you...I mean, is there...Shane, why didn’t you tell me?”

“There isn’t exactly a good way to say, ‘Hey buddy, when I go on vacation, I’m actually off visiting my favorite club so I can tie folks up, tease them silly, and just generally have a good kinky time.’”

Ryan’s lungs seize. The air flies from the room, pushed out the poorly patched window. “Oh,” is all he can manage to say.

The steps settle outside the door. “I knew you were submissive,” he says, “but it’s kind of...maybe not off-putting, just that we aren’t in a relationship and I didn’t want to, you know. Be wrong.”

“What—what is it you’re wanting?” He laughs, as nervously as Shane did downstairs earlier. “God, I can’t believe we’re having this discussion here.”

“Yeah, it’s, um.” Shane sounds sheepish, enough to make Ryan’s heart clench. “We can talk in the morning. This was probably a real mood killer, huh? Embarrassing and all that.”

Ryan balls his hands into fists, tight enough for his nails to dig into his palms. _If Shane can be open and honest, then so can I._ “Embarrassing is—it’s okay.”

“Just okay?” His voice dips again—Ryan finds it unfair, how easily Shane seems to shift back and forth, from adorable to commanding. Intense, but also smooth. A gentle domination, Ryan realizes. “Or is it more than okay?” Shane asks.

He clears his throat, trying to ignore his twitching cock, interested again. “More than.”

“Tell me what else.”

His eyes flutter close of their own volition; being allowed to show his arousal, not having to bury it around Shane, is an enormous relief. He starts feeling semi-weightless again, untethered, though still nervous from being trapped, regardless of Shane’s proximity.

“Are you going to make me guess?” Shane raps his knuckles against the door.

“No!”

A long pause. “Well?”

Tears well up behind Ryan’s closed eyes, and he has no idea _why._ His guts are twisting, and he can’t decide whether he’s more scared or ashamed. It almost _hurts,_ the conflicting, warring emotions, and he’s still hard, which makes no sense.

“I...Shane, I can’t.” Ryan chokes back a sob, or maybe a moan—he has no idea anymore. “It’s too much; everything’s too much.”

“Okay,” says Shane immediately. “That’s okay. Limits are good and so are you. Just take a minute. Take your pulse. Count it out.”

Ryan does. Twice.

“We’re not doing anything fancy here. If you need to stop, just say the word, and we’ll stop.”

“I don’t want to,” Ryan blurts out, and Shane laughs, once, loudly.

“Me either.” Ryan hears him rub his hands together. “Do something for me?” Shane asks, but he doesn’t wait for a reply. “Turn the lights off.”

“Fucking _what?”_ Demon or not, Ryan has no interest in sitting up here in the dark alone, no matter what his erection says.

“Humor me.”

Ryan’s heart pounds, pushing heat through his veins. “Will you—will you stay?”

“Maybe.”

His hands are shaking. “Will you tell me why?”

“Nope.” Shane settles against the door. “You need to trust me.”

And Ryan _does_ trust him, more than the pervasive fear or his own intuition, more than his inner voice screaming at him for even _considering_ following these directions. He pushes up from the floor, and the light switch isn’t far away. Ryan barely has to reach to flip it off.

So he does.

The room plunges into darkness, save for the moonlight streaming through the uncovered square of attic window. Sitting down in the stairwell blocks most of it, though, like the moon’s chosen to conspire with Shane, and with the house, and with whatever might possibly haunt the place.

As if on cue, Ryan hears one of the floorboards squeak, instantly reminding him of the hotel room in New Orleans and the haunted footsteps above his head. “Shane?”

It deafens him, the sound of Shane’s feet against the stairs, growing ever fainter.

A scratch against the glass—a branch. Ryan knows it’s a branch. There must be a tree close by. He simply missed it when they walked through. Trees grow everywhere.

 _He’s playing with your head,_ Ryan reminds himself. _I can stop if I want to,_ except Shane left. Is Ryan meant to shout?

 _What if I couldn’t?_ Ryan breathes sharply, grating on his ears. _What if I_ couldn’t _speak? What if I really was just...helpless?_

Shane hadn’t said to do it, but Ryan folds his arms behind his back, anyway, grabbing the opposite forearm with each hand. He closes his eyes again, bites his bottom lip, and tries to sit as still as possible, sinking into the illusion.

Another whine against the windowpane. Still the tree, or maybe the wind this time. Whatever it is, Ryan ignores it.

The floor bends again—not under some phantom weight, of course. Nothing’s there. Only Ryan in this attic, in the dark, pretending he’s immobilized, waiting for Da—for Shane. For _Shane._

 _Goddammit._ He blames the mental slip-of-the-tongue on Shane, and now Ryan’s considering Shane’s tongue, and holy _fuck._ Ryan imagines the same situation, only Shane sits with him in the dark. He’d have bound Ryan to a chair first, because Shane knows knots. His mouth is wet and hot around Ryan’s cock, but not sucking, only mouthing and licking it. No relief to be found, though Ryan can hear the sloppy sounds of Shane jacking off, feel the warmth of his breath on his skin as Shane comes.

Ryan knows how small Shane’s hands make him feel, so he pictures Shane getting up, ruffling Ryan’s hair and calling him a good boy—a boy who is _good._ A good, _good boy._ Maybe he runs his finger under the strap of the gag, or else along Ryan’s lips. Appreciating him before he goes, before he closes and locks the door, leaving an utterly frustrated, almost panicked Ryan alone again.

The toy piano beeps across the real room, and Ryan startles. Wind couldn’t have done that, nor could the house settling, nor a tree. _The batteries in it are dying,_ Shane tells Ryan in his head. _You’re fine._

He doesn’t feel fine. Ryan’s on edge in two genuinely painful ways.

“Shane?” But there’s no response. He doesn’t think he’s been this turned on since he was first figuring out how masturbation worked, since his first illicitly found pornography, carefully hidden from his parents.

“Shane,” hisses Ryan, and he isn’t sure if he wants Shane to be there or not.

The piano plinks again, an electronic distortion. Another complaining floorboard. More whistling from the wind outside.

Ryan tries to clear his thoughts, attempts to ignore both the ghost signs all around him and the throbbing, leaking ache in his boxers. He grows uneasy, his arousal intensifying the more hyper-aware he becomes of the attic’s sounds. Static fills his ears, not unlike the spirit box, except worse, because it’s inside his skull. His lip starts to wobble; his chest hurts; his eyes water.

“How’s my big boy doing in there?”

He barely manages a mumbled, “Daddy?”

Shane makes a sound Ryan can’t parse. “Thought so,” and Ryan doesn’t know what, precisely, he’s confirmed. “I bet you want to come, don’t you?”

“Oh God, fuck, _please.”_

“Spit into your hand,” Shane tells him, “then jerk yourself off, hand over your pants.”

“Then why—why am I bothering to use spit?”

“Because I told you to. I expect to see two fresh wet spots when you’re done.”

 _Holy shit._ “Proof I was good?”

“I know you’re good,” reassures Shane. “What I want to know is that you’ll _obey.”_

Ryan gets off much faster than planned, hand still clutched around his cock and two layers of fabric as he slumps against the wall. He pushes into the fabric, doing his best to leave visible evidence on the outside of his clothes.

“See, baby? I knew you could do it.”

“Need you.” A bubble of repressed panic pops in Ryan’s guts. “Shane—Shane, I _need_ you.”

The door bumps against Ryan’s legs as it opens, and Shane curses as he squeezes through the gap. He flicks the light back on, blindingly bright, then somehow manages to sit beside Ryan on the tiny square of floor. He puts his arms around Ryan, holding him close; Shane smells like toothpaste, and the citrus hand soap from the bathroom, and the weird ambient must from his sleeping bag.

Shane’s lips press against the top of Ryan’s head, and Ryan’s surprised when he starts crying, because he’s smiling and sated, overloaded in the best worst way. “Was that good?” he asks, awkwardly pulling Ryan into his lap. The hard outline of Shane’s cock presses against Ryan’s thigh. “Is it too soon to touch you?”

“It was good,” manages Ryan. “So good. And cuddling is great. Kisses—yeah, yes.”

“God, but you’re perfect. Did you know that? And I’ve been wanting to give this to you for so long, Ry. To take care of you.” Shane tips Ryan’s head back to kiss his forehead; he runs his hand through Ryan’s hair. “I just didn’t know how to ask.”

“Neither did I.” Ryan wipes his eyes and sniffles. “You think your vacations are hard to explain.”

Shane snorts. “Got me there.” He kisses the tip of Ryan’s nose, and his cheeks, and everywhere besides where Ryan wants Shane’s lips. “We should talk about this.”

Ryan doesn’t want to yawn, but he’s comfortable. “Maybe after breakfast?” He puts on his best pout. Still, his cheeks flame when he asks, “Later, Daddy?”

“I take it all back. You’re terrible.” Shane grins. “Want me to tuck you in?”

He honestly can’t tell whether Shane is joking or not. Ryan shakes his head, then finally hugs Shane back, and Ryan wants to go to sleep right here on the floor, relaxed and loose-limbed in Shane’s embrace.

“You, uh.” Ryan nudges Shane’s hard-on with his knuckles, smirks at Shane’s muttered curses. “You want help with that?”

“If I have to wait to talk with you until breakfast,” he says, nuzzling into Ryan’s hair, “then you’re gonna have to wait to suck my cock.”

Ryan’s whimper is embarrassing, which is arousing, and his spent dick isn’t about to cooperate.

“How about Daddy gives you a kiss goodnight, instead?”

Ryan giggles, breathless, amused by the whole situation, relieved they’re finally here, that they’ve reached this point together. Their giant smiles mean they’re barely kissing, but the touch of Shane’s mouth to his is perfect, even if Ryan can barely keep his eyes open.

The circumstances don’t matter; they don’t matter one bit.

Behind Shane, the door blows shut, and they pause, pulling away, both wide-eyed.

The lock slams tight.

Okay, _that_ might matter.

**Author's Note:**

> For the complete shiphitsthefan shyan smut-writing experience, go listen to "[Mayores](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GMFewiplIbw)" on repeat for at least an hour.
> 
> If you enjoyed this, please consider sharing [the aesthetic post](https://shiphitsthefan.tumblr.com/post/173691442689/domshanesubryan-missing-scene-explicit-no). Thank you for reading!
> 
> You can find me on [tumblr](https://shiphitsthefan.tumblr.com/). I'm friendly and enjoy flailing excitedly about various topics.
> 
> Kudos and comments validate my existence. <3


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